Watch Me Turn 30, by Holly C.
I'm a 29-year-old New Yorker who inherited this site from my pal, Holly P., to document the final year of my twenties. Right up until I turn the big 3-0 next January, I'll use this blog to indulge my inner-narcissist by voicing the good (I can date men anywhere from ages 21 to 50 without it being scandalous) the bad (I keep getting ma'amed) and the ugly (is it possible to get cellulite on your stomach?!). Here's to waving goodbye to my youth, accepting adulthood and remembering that every ending is really just a new beginning.
the photo for June 25, 2007
DAY 147  |  June 25, 2007
I scored a gift certificate for a class at Radu’s gym during a press event (he’s the guy who trained Cindy Crawford). Since I was bored of jogging, I decided to check it out.

Running late after work—as usual!—I filled out the mandatory safety form in a rush so I could start the session. There was a section where the gym asked who to contact in case of an injury.

Without thinking, I automatically jotted E’s info—his is the only phone number I know by heart and the name I typically give on such forms. When I got to the line labeled “Relationship to you,” I wrote “None.” And then I got all teary-eyed. You know, I’ve been doing fine. Really I have. But it’s the random moments I'm not expecting that take my breath away.

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